


The Sleeping Beauty of Norsewood

by FiliTheLionKing (IAmYourWatson)



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Along with guns, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Anders is Aurora, Anders is a prince, Dark Magic, Fairy Tale Curses, M/M, Minor Violence, Mitchell is Prince Philip, Mitchell's origin story is a bit remixed in this, Norsewood is a kingdom, There is magic in this world, War, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmYourWatson/pseuds/FiliTheLionKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a prince name Anders, cursed upon his christening to die upon his 18th birthday. A long time before this, a boy named John Mitchell fought in a war, died, and became prince of the vampires. </p><p>In a world where magic and guns exist side-by-side, the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty gets a Britchell twist, with all the darkness and romance that it implies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleeping Beauty of Norsewood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_butterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_butterfly/gifts).



> So blue_butterfly is an evil vixen and her story on tumblr about a Britchell!Cinderella fairytale inspired me to write this. It literally would not let me go to bed before it was written. It's late as heck right now, so late it's early, so I'm off to sleep. As always, comments and critiques make me unbearably happy!

Once upon a time, in a land far across the sea, there was once a young man just like every other. A tall lad, born to lowly parents, but raised in a household of love and warmth. He grew to be strong and bright, like a star plucked from the sky, and he brought joy to all who knew him. It seemed as if all of his life was ahead of him, and that it would be a good one, but something terrible happened: a war, dark and terrible and beyond all reckoning.

The kings of the lands across the channels could no longer hold back their evil and their grudges, and all too soon the boy was called into the service of his country. Bidding his mother and father goodbye, and saying farewell to his brothers and sisters, the boy who was not yet a man went across the water into a land riddled with holes and mud. Some days, it was hard to tell if the ground was slick from the rain that fell continuously from the sky, or if it was from the rivers of blood that flowed from the fallen bodies.

Dark magics were used in the war, terrible spells and evils that only a generation ago could not be imagined. Lights flashed in the sky as explosions boomed in the boy’s ears. People fell to sickly air, deadly gases, and diseases that a gun could not destroy, save to put the dying out of their misery. Others died of empty stomachs or empty brains, pools of blood littering once green fields. Wizards with their magics and their potions either helped or killed the soldiers, most of whom were boys too young to kill or men too old to fight. And the boy saw Death, and looked him in the eye, and watched him take away his comrades one by one. 

Still, the boy soldiered on, weathering the harsh climate, the strange food, the terrible people, the horrors of war and death and dark magic. Sometimes it seemed that guns were no use, and they should all fall upon their swords, lest they die of far worse things. The mustard gas spells took his friends from down the lane, a firebomb immolated his neighbor, bullets riddled his old schoolteacher from behind. Still, the boy soldiered on. Still, the boy lived. And as the war seemed to stretch forever on before him, the boy became a man, and when he first took a life, he cried and cried. The was the last time he would ever cry for himself. 

Rumor grew of shadows from the east, dark men in their dark uniforms marching in straight lines, mowing over everything in their path. Soldiers that could not die, men who drank the blood of their enemies and bathed in their tears. The man’s commanders told him it was rubbish, that there was nothing to fear. The general was found two days later with his throat torn out. And the man learned to fear the night yet again. Again, they began dying, but this time not of the magics of the enemy wizards, nor from stray bullets, or gases, or diseases, but from gaping wounds and drained bodies. They were all of them afraid.

The man found himself in a deep fog, his comrades hidden by the floating clouds; it was dark in the middle of the day, and he feared for his life more so than usual. Then, with a great silence, one by one, they fell. He heard the thumps, but nothing else, save what he thought was a faint slurping as Connors disappeared from his right. Llewllyn faded from his left, and he was alone. What happened next was a blur to him, and to this day he cannot quite remember what happened. But there was a velvet voice to his left, and his hair stood on end, and he died with naught but a soft cry from his lips. 

But death was not the end. And the boy who became a man in the depths of war rose from that hellish fog and became a vampire. 

John Mitchell was born.

* * *

Many years passed. The war ended. Another began and ended in its own time. The kings of the world went back to their thrones and reigned in relative peace for decades. The wizards were restricted, the magics held at bay. And Mitchell became a prince in his own right. Prince of the Vampires. He ruled over a kingdom of shadows whenever his king was gone or would not deign to bother himself with the outside world. Time moved on. People changed. Modes of fashioned melted from one style to another, and still Mitchell ruled. The shadows grew longer and shorter with the passing of the seasons. And still Mitchell ruled. Time seemed to favor him, and unlike other kings and princes who died or were deposed, Mitchell survived and thrived. Supernaturals always lurked on the outside of the world, a specter among the living, hiding in plain sight. A rumor to some, a reality to others. And still Mitchell ruled. 

* * *

The kingdom of Norsewood rejoiced. Another prince was born to their king and queen. His names was Anders, second prince of Norsewood, and second-in-line to the throne. While Norsewood was not the largest of kingdoms, nor the most powerful, it was rich in woodlands and minerals; thus, a marriage between any kingdom and Norsewood would provide well for the other kingdom. The king of Norsewood was eager to promise his second son to a strong kingdom, both to ensure that his son would be looked after, and that Norsewood would secure a strong alliance with a larger (and more militarily powerful) kingdom. And so it was the when Anders was christened, envoys from all the kingdoms came to offer blessings, congratulations, and proposals to the infant prince and his parents. 

Of all the kingdoms that came that day, only four stood out. One was the kingdom of Floridia, which gave the infant prince a grand mirror, with which to look upon himself as he grew into a handsome man. The next was the duchy of Faunata, which gave the boy a flute, so that he may grow to become gifted in music to soothe the savage beasts. But then, the courtiers were stunned into silence as the doors blasted open, and the king of the witches stormed into the room. He was angry, for he had been overlooked, though his kingdom was vast and large, as it was that any witch, wherever they dwelled, made up his kingdom. The king of Norsewood was stilled into silence, and in his outrage, the king of the witches cursed the baby boy, sentencing him to die in 18 years’ time. Satisfied with his revenge, the king of the witches departed in a flurry of feathers and screams, and the throne room was once again silent. 

Seeing his chance, the king of the vampires, a man named Herrick, stepped forth, for his kingdom, thought invited, had not given its gift, and it was the last one left. Bowing respectfully to the distraught king and queen, he offered his magics to aid the baby prince. The queen, desperate to keep her youngest safe, begged him to help them. Smiling sadly (and perhaps a little insanely), Herrick said that his magic was not as strong as the witch’s, so he could only lessen the curse. Still, he summoned all his strength, and he amended the witch king’s spell: on the boy’s 18th birthday, he would not die; instead, he would fall into a deep sleep that could only be woken by the kiss of his soul’s match.

Knowing that the king of Norsewood would forever owe him a debt of gratitude, Herrick was satisfied with his work, and did not offer his prince Mitchell as a potential groom for the infant boy. The other man simply remained silent, watching with apparent disinterest, although his dead heart cried in sympathy for the king and queen of Norsewood. And indeed, the king and queen of Norsewood were eternally grateful to the vampires, and offered them refuge and the blood of their livestock should the need ever arise. While it was not as good as human blood, the vampires vowed to never kill a human within the borders of Norsewood, as a sign of their good faith. Mitchell knew such a promise would not last, but the king and queen were willing to take it at face value.

And so peace reigned again for some time. The world moved on, as always, and the vampires and Norsewood remained allies. Indeed, many speculated that a prince of vampires would one day marry a prince of Norsewood (for more had been born after Anders’ fateful christening, and none of them were cursed). Herrick would only smile mysteriously if this was mentioned around him, and Mitchell would only roll his eyes and dismiss whoever was talking about it. Anders, meanwhile, grew up into a handsome young man, lithe and fair, a beauty truly worthy of Floridia’s prophecy. He became a master of the flute; indeed, the prince was so skilled at this art, that it was said that he possessed magic when playing and could control the will of those around him. So Faunata’s prophecy also came to fruition. 

This peace, however, would not last. Anders was already 17, and though his family had kept his curse a secret from the boy by decreeing that all talk of the curse was illegal, he began to suspect that something was wrong. Since the witch had never specified how he would die, the king and queen worried that Anders could be destroyed by any number of things, and often kept him under a heavy guard or tucked away within the castle.

It was because of this that he had never seen the prince of the vampires, not until one day, when Mitchell had wandered away from the great hall where a feast was being held, that they met within the gardens. As usual, the cunning prince of Norsewood had used his flute to lull his guardians into a deep sleep, one that only he could wake them from. He often did this when he grew restless, and he would wander freely within the garden for some time before returning to his palace prison. So it was that he was caught unawares when the ever silently moving vampire saw him and approached. The blonde nearly jumped out of his skin when the taller man smiled and called out his name. 

"Who are you?" The prince asked, not unkindly, after he calmed his breath down. 

"You do not know me?" Mitchell asked, confused. He had never seen this boy before, having spent the last decade or so travelling. He did not know that this was the princeling he had seen 17 years ago in his cradle. 

"Indeed, I do not. From your skin and your eyes, you seem a vampire. Am I wrong, sir?" Anders was unafraid, remembering that long ago a peace was made between their kinds.

"Aye, I am. You are clever, Sir…?" 

"My name is not important, is it?" Anders coyly grinned, laughing when Mitchell flushed (as much as a vampire is able to, that is).

"Then neither is mine, my dear man!" Mitchell laughed as well, his eyes glinting in the faint sunlight of the cloudy day.

The vampire was becoming more and more interested in the young man, and he offered his arm to the blonde. Accepting it gratefully, the prince walked through the gardens for hours with his tall, dark escort. They talked of everything and nothing, of their kingdoms (though neither ever suspected that the other was a prince), of courtly gossip, of the weather, of the mountains and trees nearby. So it was that as night began to fall, Anders reluctantly left his companion’s side, telling Mitchell that he had to go inside before he was missed. In those few blessed hours, they had fallen in love, as fairytale princes were often wont to do. Though neither knew the other’s name, they knew each others’ hearts, and knew that one day, perhaps, their souls would prove to be the other’s match. When Mitchell went in for a kiss, Anders coyly ducked away from it, his laugh ringing out like a merry bell as he ran for the castle. And so Mitchell stood smiling for many minutes after. 

* * *

They had planned to meet the next day, the two oblivious princes, but it would never come to pass. For that night was the prince’s 18th birthday, though he had forgotten all about it. The queen wept while the king stood stoically by her side, and they puzzled and debated what to do about their blonde son. Should they send him away? Should they tell him of the curse? Should the hide him away inside of the palace forever? Would it be wrong or right of them to deny the boy his future if it meant saving his life? Such questions were hard to answer, and indeed, many different advisors had many different responses, none of which satisfied the king and queen. All of the courtiers with political, military, magical, and medicinal knowledge were tucked away inside the throne room in counsel with the king and queen, debating what to do to stop the prince’s curse from ever happening.

So it was that none who could have stopped it saw the intruder in the night. 

A vampire, a rogue, unaffiliated with the king, had snuck into the retinue of the vampire king, seeking to cause chaos and cruelty. What the vampire did not know was that this thought had been planted into his mind by the witch king, who still remembered the insults against him. This would be the boy’s death, he thought, not knowing that Herrick had eased his curse. The rogue vampire snuck his way past the guards, having once been a master of stealth in his previous life. The strength, speed, and silent grace of the vampires only made him all the more dangerous after he died. Sensing fresh, young blood nearby, he made his way into Anders’ room, where the blonde prince sat on his bed, daydreaming of the man he had met that morning. Seeing his chance, the vampire slunk into the room, the door quietly clicking into place behind him, the lock sliding home. 

Anders heard the strange noise and was roused from his reverie. Looking around, he saw no one, but his senses told him that something was amiss. Drawing his rapier from its sheath beside his bed, he held it before him, on guard for anything. He saw a shadow move from the corner of his eye, but before he could turn to see it, the vampire was upon him, easily evading the sword and grabbing the prince. With nary a sound, the vampire bit down into Anders’ fair neck, his fangs slicing through the skin like hot knives through butter. A sharp scream fell from Anders’ lips, alerting the guards, who tried to enter the room, but to no avail. After a few moments, they managed to kick down the door, but by then it was too late: the prince lay in a death-like sleep upon the floor, the vampire standing triumphantly over him. The prince’s screams had drawn more guards, as well as the king and queen, and one quick guard grabbed a stake from his belt and threw it into the vampire’s heart with great strength. The rogue screamed and dissolved into ashes, and was gone. 

Although the threat was gone, it was too little too late for the blonde prince. He lay in a deep sleep on the stone floor, his limbs limp and his skin pale from the blood loss. There were no fang marks on his neck, an effect of Herrick’s magic, but he was no longer breathing. It was as if Anders was truly dead, and the queen wept and wailed. The bells tolled sadly, and the kingdom was told of what had befallen their prince. Anders was laid in his bed, sheets of crimson adorning them, and his robes were of black. With his hands folded across his chest, he was the picture of beauty in repose, but it brought no joy to those who looked. The last to see the prince and offer their respects to the king and queen were the king and prince of the vampires, Herrick and MItchell. When Mitchell saw the face of the one who lay on the bed, he cried out in saddened agony, falling to his knees at the bedside. For it was his love, the one whom he’d met in the garden and wished to marry. 

The king and queen of Norsewood were confused, but Herrick, as ever, had keen eyes and a keener talent for knowing people. He drew the king and queen aside as Mitchell held Anders’ cold hand, still in shock as he stared at his beloved. Herrick deduced that Anders, who was so gifted with the flute, lulled his guardians into a deep sleep with his music, since magic ran in the royal line of Norsewood. That would allow him to wander the castle grounds freely, without being babysat and constantly watched. That is when he must have met Mitchell, who had always had a fondness for the gardens of the Norsewood palace. The king and queen, seeing the evidence before their eyes, agreed that this must be true. Their son was clever beyond his years, and they only wished that they had seen this earlier. 

None of this talk mattered to Mitchell, who still held his beloved’s hand, anguished and angry that his love could be taken from him so soon. Though he had known the moment he had fallen in love with the blonde man that their love would end in heartbreak (for surely an immortal and a mortal could never be happy forever), he had wanted their time to be unmarred by strife. Never had it occurred to him that he could lose his heart’s desire so quickly. But wait. Perhaps…perhaps there was a way…oh, but it was a dangerous way, one of pain, and perhaps Anders would see it as the curse it truly was. Perhaps, if he could ever forgive him, Mitchell could have Anders with him forever…as a vampire. The vampire’s kiss could save the blonde, as it were, trading one kind of life for another. 

The king and queen turned as Mitchell stood. The vampire prince knelt on the blonde prince’s bed, gently cradling the smaller man’s head and neck. Unsure of what the vampire prince meant to do, the king and queen made to stop him, but Herrick threw his arm out and halted them. Quickly, he explained what Mitchell was going to do: the blood of a vampire, given freely, can bring one from the edge of death and return them to life, a life as a vampire, but life nonetheless. Desperate to have their son back, and remembering Herrick’s spell from when Anders was just an infant, they held back, praying that Mitchell was indeed their son’s soul’s match. 

Mitchell bit his tongue, piercing it with his fang enough for blood to well from the muscle. His mouth filling with the scarlet liquid, he bent down and placed his lips to Anders’, gently opening them and letting his cool blood pour into the sleeping man’s mouth. A small droplet of blood escaped from the corner of Anders’ lips, trailing down a pale cheek as Mitchell poured his love into the kiss, begging any god who would listen to him to return Anders’ soul to his body and give Mitchell back his beloved. The wound on his tongue quickly healed, and all the blood that Mitchell had to give was poured down Anders’ throat. Gently rubbing the pale flesh to make sure Anders swallowed it as much as he could, Mitchell leaned back just enough to see Anders’ closed eyes. Many tense moments passed, and still Mitchell waited while Anders lay as quiet as death before him. 

When all hope seemed lost, and even the king and queen began to sadly turn away, a quiet gasp echoed through the room, and Anders’ eyes flew open, his back arching as Mitchell’s powerful blood flowed through him. A gasping cry of pain left the blonde man as his body quickly transformed, the process of becoming a vampire sped up for him because of the strange circumstances. His mouth opened in a wordless scream as his fangs grew in his mouth, and his eyes turned black as the darkest night. As soon as it all happened, it was over, and Anders’ eyes returned to normal, his fangs slipping back into his gums as he sat up slowly, aided by Mitchell. When he met his beloved’s eyes, the blonde smiled softly, his hand coming up to cradle Mitchell’s cheek as the taller man held back tears. 

"So dramatic, my love…" Anders whispered, his voice hoarse but full of emotion. 

"Me? Dramatic? Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Mitchell said through his laughter, the sound almost hysterical with relief and joy as he wrapped his arms around his beloved prince.

The king and queen looked on in wonder and happiness, while Herrick simply smiled his mysterious (and often deadly) smile. The guards spread the word, and soon the whole kingdom knew of what had happened. A marriage soon followed, with as many people of Norsewood as could fit in attendance, as well as scores of vampires loyal to Herrick and Mitchell. Anders and Mitchell were wed in Norsewood’s oldest woods, where the ceremony was presided over by the blonde prince’s grandfather, the high priest. They had only eyes for each other, and the joy in their gazes was palpable even to the most ardent of skeptics. 

And so it was that Anders, Prince of Norsewood, and Mitchell, Prince of Vampires, were wed. An alliance, unbroken to this day, was formed between Norsewood and the Vampires, who are still led by Mitchell, now King of the Vampires, and his consort, Prince Anders. And though he now faced immortality as a vampire, Anders was never afraid, for he had his beloved Mitchell by his side, and Mitchell, the boy who had become a man in darkest war, had the light and love of his long life within his arms. 

And they lived happily ever after. 

**Author's Note:**

> For once, this title is an original of mine. Sort of. The Norsewood part is. A bit. At least it's not song lyrics this time, right guys?


End file.
